I’m not the kind of person who dislikes someone without getting to know them, and this wasn’t one of those cases either. But just hearing the sneer in his voice, the way he belittled me, made me feel lesser—as if I couldn’t stand up to him, as if he always held the absolute truth. All those qualities made him absolutely loathsome to me. I know, hate is a strong emotion that nobody should experience, but I can’t help it. His violent attitude and that macabre smile—at least that’s how it seems to me—it’s contempt etched into his face. However, let’s not fool ourselves; that says more about his own personal shortcomings than mine, but I still find the mere act of looking into his rotten eyes full of resentment, low emotions, and his inability to understand how the world works utterly disgusting.

It was as if he had no understanding of the meaning of words like compassion, love, and empathy—as if he had taken a bite with his foul mouth from the dictionary pages where they appeared and renamed it “Barbaric Dictionary.” His disregard for these fundamental values seemed to permeate every aspect of his existence, creating an aura of bitterness that was hard to ignore. To live life without embracing these essential concepts was to live a hollow existence. It was like walking through a world devoid of the qualities that make us human—those intrinsic values that bind us together and create a sense of community.

I tried to explain it to Emma, but her jaw kept chewing as if my speech wasn’t meant for her. She just said, “Why don’t you lower the difficulty level of the game and then you’ll be able to defeat him?” She hadn’t understood a thing. The value of defeating that hateful final boss wasn’t about playing on easy mode, but about stooping to his level and showing what I’m made of. I couldn’t expect Emma to understand the depth of my feelings—the need to prove myself against this obnoxious character. It was about more than just beating the game; it was about overcoming the personal struggle he represented. I needed to emerge victorious over the embodiment of all the negativity and belittlement, and on his own terms.

life's a box

carton hamper case bin receptacle

trunk coffer container crate chest

four sides top bottom resembling

infinity at first

then we grow gain collect gather

suffocating stuff thoughts matter

till so full we can no longer catch

our very breath

then life becomes a casket

People, places, professions, and pets

Families' faces, wrongful regrets

Distractions, I think, and think nothing more

Exceptions to that which there is something for

We are our own captors caught in our nets

Living for loving or loving to live

Seeking the whole but the soul is a sieve

Extractions, I think, suggesting a core

Deceptions, and that ever-yearning for more

Free from these factors, what have we to give?

Strip them away--the whats which we love

Shed them or stow them--the whos we think of

Neighbors and labors all peeled away

Sailors of ships, weigh your anchors this day

Gone, gone forever--gone below, gone above

I feel you, feel them, feel nothing but pride

A fool's fleeting memories--memories died

Sabers within pierce what's left of a heart

Nailers in crypts enshrine every last part

Of a life pure and perfect--now nothing inside

And this hollow heart now has nothing to hide

Cast them away as a shimmering stone

Their funny little feet, her intrepid tone

The unwritten stanza, the unwanted strife

To teach ungrown children and unbeheld wife

How to love living life in a life all alone

Pictures prior to twenty-sixteen, March four

Emptiness knots up and rots in the core

Death's anniversary, penitence begs

The people and places, the dives and the dregs

Distractions, I think, and think nothing more

There is no point, in this pit, I opined

What is there left when we're left behind?

But in these dark places with people's bleak faces

On occasion will come solemn moments and graces

It occurred to me--weigh this anchor anchored in my mind

The strings of thought and things of stress

Whether purposeful or purposeless

All we do, all for whom, everything that we think,

And every sin we commit, have in common a link

They're made meaningful or stayed--meaningless

A dangerous thought had entered my mind

And a stranger one caught just before I could find

Any reason to see myself free from these kegs

Up off of my stool, away from the dregs

Sorted, though sordid, and onto my legs

Worrisome words, though cruelly kind

That this life was not meant to be lived in this way

A pall that it all could be ended this day

No more fractions, distractions, or the feeling that this...

That the soul is kept strained if sustained in false bliss

So it keeps coming back-- through endearing decay

Too hard to handle, too heavy to lift

To conceive that to leave is considered a gift

Absolving the world of incessant contention

The matter of making untimely ascension

To degrade the esprit and to dock those adrift

Whatever these worrisome words underscore

Wherever the winds therein blow heretofore

A vow must be made: Every move that I make

Every choice I should choose, every action I take

Must be meaningful, purposeful, thoughtful, and more--

Suspending, and perhaps upending, this never ending March four

I had a choice. I chose wrong. I chose evil instead of good. I chose chaos instead of peace. It sank in. I didn’t just chose to walk away. Evil is now a part of who I am. People don’t notice it, because it is pure. It is pure evil, and I don’t find it wrong. I embraced it with my heart and now it’s hidden in my soul. I don’t scream or shout. I won’t stab you in the back, unless you provoke me. I am not narcissistic. I know I am wrong. I simply chose myself. I was between a rock and a hard place. I could have chosen to fit in, to be a good Christian, to be a good daughter, to go with the flow. I didn’t. I chose to break the flow. I chose to be a spear of diamond instead of a raft of wood. The one choice I’ll never regret.

I looked into the mirror one day and asked myself if I or my enemies would die. Instead of deciding one of us would die, I chose to make my life heaven and their‘s hell. I woke up out of misery and got to work. First manipulate; I took, I take, I let them win, I lead them on. I watch them crumble, but never let them fall. I am their master of shadows, their demons in the dark. I am fear itself. And this… this? This is just a start. Let them win, let them fall, let them live forever in pain.

"It's our only way out," I urged but my companion seemed unimpressed.

"There's no way out. We've tried it so many times, now haven't we?"

"But if we give up then we've lost. We cannot give up ... or give in!"

"Tell me," he was belligerent, "What good came the last time we tried?"

"Well, we got a different result," I argued, "Isn't that progress?"

"Progress? Bah!"

"I know, I know ... I mean I'm growing sceptical myself, pal. But we cannot not try. Just once more. Please!"

"Trust me, the result will be the same. As a great man once said-"

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" I completed his sentence and then added, "That great man was Einstein"

"Fine I'll do it for you."

"No. Don't do it for me. Don't do it for any God. Don't do it for anyone or anything other than yourself!" I was losing my patience with him.

"Why? Why is this box so important?"

"Because ..." I had to pause and take a deep breath, "It is the only box capable of transformation, of radical change, of hope. Yes, this is the box of hope!"

A smirk and then a nod. I sighed.

I had managed to convince just one fellow citizen to trust the box, the ballot box. I think that was a good start.

The past 30 years of my life I have been chasing the next best thing. The next goal, and on and on and on. Nothing I ever reached was enough. For myself, and maybe also for my parents. I was afraid I'd run out of time for all the things I want to try, know, learn, feel. But recently I stopped. It actually took a while; let's say the breaking distance felt 10km long. But now I am still. I notice, that I haven't been able to feel much of what I lived through, because I did it so fast. And always with the thought in my mind that I am not fast enough yet. I am missing out on my future, I am missing out on my presence, I want to live free right now and for 10 years to come - I want to have children of my own, preferably yesterday. I took FOMO and brought it to the next level. And even right now I think: "That is an achievement as well!". But, just like many on my Instagram feed, I don't want to achieve anymore. I want to enjoy. And apparently, those two are mutially exclusive, as long as my addiction stands. So, achievement detox it is.

And do you know what I noticed? It doesn't look like sunset just yet. I am standing in the yellow and orange of my dawn, cold and warm at the same time. I am not chasing the light, it's coming toward me, on its own. And it's silent. and it's glorious. all I need to do is stand there.

So today I made another dumb decision you only make when you think somehow the you that makes it will be different from the you that does it. As if your life is a part time job and you hope the next guy does it better, has more respect for the customers, more respect for the work itself. But i watched a video that spoke about the exact same thing I'm describing. A lack of consistency, or more accurately a lack of stewardship like my life is a public bathroom. The man on the screen said: "in order to be consistent, you have to realise that there is no consistency in you". And i just thought to myself well future me is a bigger loser than current me. I mean who even does stuff like that, if you find a public bathroom with stains and a cloth the previous guy used to clean it; you don't piss on the rag, right?

Anyway I thought i'd put a little more effort into my "write 40min a day" practice. Yesterday i did it while laying on my back whispering into the phone as google text-to-speech tried to write down my thoughts. Today I'm sitting by the computer typing on an old HP keyboard that makes noises that nerdy people pay decent money for these days. (don't know if it's the sound or the way it feels but these new keyboards are too mushy)

I thought I'd put more effort into it, more of myself into it even thought its not all of me, it's enough to one up whatever prick I wake up as tomorrow. As I battle with the thought that I have no idea what that guy is gonna do, I start to realise that by definition I get worse by the day. Meaning at some point it started going down hill. When did that happen, it's not that i can't imagine where i went wrong, I can't pinpoint a time when I didn't.

If there is one day I remember as the beginning of my descent, it's the day I got locked in a class as a punishment and I jumped out the window. Now that I think about it; its not that i got in serious trouble (that happened too often) it's the fact that i didn't understand what i did wrong. Till this day I don't regret it, but i remember the me who would've definitely hated doing that and felt horrible that he did it.

Whatever happened to that guy, the incident I speak of here happened when I was like 9 and every year since then I've similar events where I do something "bad" (or at least something that required a disciplinary hearing) up until my rampage of bad decisions started to leak outside school. Trouble with police, trouble with the community, excessive drinking, smoking, fighting at the time these felt like accomplishments.

Ask any of the degenerates i hung out with and they'd agree, my horrible habits were a badge of honour. I now realise I didn't start the timer or check the time.

But anyway whatever happened to that guy, the guy who wanted to impress his parents. The guy who likes Sci-Fi, nature and computers. I used to see him from time to time when i was sober he looked scared. One day I stopped seeing him, I thought he just became me, the new me. I now realise he's dead and the guy who replaced him doesn't care if he comes back but I kind of miss him.

Who am I? I should be the guy who's typing but it feels like i'm the guy who's watching. I feel like the part time job like the public bathroom thought I have alot of control of this guy today I have no idea what the guy after him is gonna be like. I just hope he comes back here so iatleast know what he's thinking.

A simple text, ‘Find time to come for me today.’

I lean back in my chair and I close my eyes. I hear the birds in the trees and the rustle of the wind.

I raise my hand and gently run the back of my fingertips down the side of my face. I can’t help but smile. Then, I trace over my lips with my finger, a sweet, lingering brush. I slide my hand down between my breasts, I pause and think of your eyes on me. The world starts to fade away.

So slowly, I let my hand glide over my stomach, down my thighs, lingering at the bottom of my shorts. With the lightest of strokes, I let my fingers graze the flesh there. Each moment, each touch, I drop away and you enter in.

I lift up my knees and let them fall to the side. I let my fingers continue their trek. Up my inner thigh, under the leg of my shorts. My hand pauses but only for a moment. I trace the outline of my mound, teasing, enticing. My head rolls back. My mouth becomes dry.

I let my fingers continue tantalising as my arousal grows. Each pass brings me a little nearer to entering my lips, to feel the heat rising from my core.

I feel my body slide down further, tilting my hips, preparing the way for deeper access. I like my lips, as I let my finger delve in to locate that treasure inside that warmth. I barely touch my clit as my fingers hover over, nearly not touching. So brief. So potent. My ass muscles clench as my hips rise up, trying to reach for more. Wanting more, needing more. I let my fingers split from one another, one finger on each side of my opening. Languidly, stroking the sensitive area they have found.

My fingers increase their speed as my wetness begins to grow, my hips press upward, wanting to capture something to put between my legs. Anything. I feel that hunger start to grow.

With my other hand, I reach out to the table beside me and wrap my fingers around the vibrator there. I slide it over my runner’s shorts and turn it on. The layer between me and it only making my need grow. I want to be filled. Mentally, I struggle with myself, forcing myself to pull my hand away, even though I very much wish it to stay. I argue in my mind, assuring myself that it will be worth that loss of contact if I can just pull away. I grimace as my arm moves painfully away. I feel the loss and my body arches up searching for that pleasure.

My hand knows where it needs to go. It slips under my shorts and lands momentarily on my clit as a harsh gasp issues from my mouth. Lower and lower the tip goes, seeking out that wetness, the hunger. It slides in easily, but only the tip at first. I want to savour the sensation of satisfaction and yet denial.

My hips slide down further, fully opening my cunt and I slide the vibrator in making each movement stretch the moment. Each depth getting to fully feel before going in deeper. I feel it hit the back wall of me and slip it into place and holding it there with the seam of my shorts. My body starts to jerk upwards and then back down. Trying so hard to get that pumping motion it longs for, but not yet. Not now.

As my body increases its rhythm, my other fingers search out my clit. I can no longer make this slow. I want. I use two fingers to capture the bead between my lips and a finger to hold them open. I start to flick my clit back and forth and then grab and pinch it. I moan and buck my hips. I can feel my wetness squeezing around the sides of the vibrator.

‘Oh fuck. Fuck me please.’ I call out to the empty room. I let the dance of my fingers continue, gathering momentum as my body responds. My hips thrust upwards. My thigh muscles clench and release. Each moment, my mind hazes and fogs. ‘Yes, please, Sir, please may I come?’ I know you. I can see you standing there, watching and shaking your head. I grit my teeth as I hold on and keep my orgasm at bay. It’s become a frenzied bucking up into the sky, swearing with each flick of my clit. I can feel the sweat starting to bead on my forehead as my hand continues to push my arousal further. I slam my head against the back of the chair in time to my thrusts. Every part of me is screaming, desperate, sitting on the brink, teetering there. My muttering increases. ‘Fuck, oh fuck, fuck, please, please, please, Sir, may I? Please?’ I hear it then in my mind, the permission granted. I scream into the room as my whole body spasms, tensing more and more as the orgasm is ripped from inside me and all the desire pouring out of me, drenching me and the chair. My scream turns into moans as I continue to thrust and suck from my body every sensation it is willing to give. my mind is silent, pure and empty. Just experiencing, feeling. In your hands, nothing more.

My movements start to subside, my breathing slows. I hesitantly pull my fingers away and bring them to my lips. I push them into my mouth and bathe them with my tongue until they are clean. With my other hand, I reach in and turn off the vibrator. As the hum ceases, so do my hips as even the smaller movements cease. Gingerly, i remove the shaft and pull it all the way out. I raise this, too, to my mouth and suck the sweetness of myself from all around it. I place it back on the table beside me. I leavr my legs splayed open, feeling the wetness running down my thighs. My mind buzzes with a white noise, as I drift off into sleep. As I go, I whisper, 'thank you, Sir,' and the world is gone.

You talk of descending into the depths of hell yet never losing hope, and rising up again; a phoenix glowing all the more.

I went through hell, but something inside me died.

And I found a place no one else talks about, somewhere where I can hide.

The Darkness doesn't seem to matter any more,

because it's all I have ever known.

There is something worse than hell.

So, instead of running, I call it byits name:

savior,

burden,

home.